


October Sunsets

by consult_the_potato



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adding characters as we go - Freeform, Fictober 2018, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consult_the_potato/pseuds/consult_the_potato
Summary: Fictober 2018! Various GF Characters/Reader ficlets! Happy Spoop Season!!





	1. Can you feel this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mermaid!Reader/Ford

**“Can you feel this?”**

He’s asking this as he prods at your scaly tail with the end of his pencil, almost like he’s nervous to touch it himself. You nod, but you look away from the scientist, unsure of his attentive gaze. 

He pulls away, muttering to himself as he scribbles something down into the journal in his other hand. “I do appreciate you answering my questions,” he smiles a little, craning his head to meet your eye, “I’ve yet to actually meet a mermaid before now. I’d always imagined some were capable of living in this lake, but that had never been proven—til you, of course.” 

You sat at the edge of the dock beside him, the ends of your tail dipping beneath the still water of lake Gravity Falls. His jeans were rolled up to his knees, his ankles joining your scales beneath the water. He kicks a little as he writes, then closes the book with a snap. 

“Do you sing? I know mythologically, it is Sirens who lure sailors, but some accounts of stories claim mermaids and sirens are one in the same.” You smile, feeling your cheeks heat at him. He rambles a little when he asks questions, but you can’t help but find it a little endearing. 

You answer that no, mermaids don’t lure men by song, but by their beauty. His skin flushes red at your answer, “A-Ah, yes, I think that is..appropriate.” His six fingers wipe against the denim at his thigh and he clears his throat, looking up at the moon in the dark sky. Remembering something, he motions for you to go back to the lake, pulling his feet from the water himself. 

“I should be going. It seems I have some theories to revise.” He begins to stand, shaking the water from his feet as he picks up his journal. “It’s been great talking with you.” Grinning again, he slips into his muddy boots, and you try (and fail) not to splash him as you leap back into the water. 

He laughs anyway, shaking his tousled brown hair from his eyes and waving at you. You call out for him to visit you next full moon, and he yells back that he wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.


	2. People Like You Have No Imagination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young(ish?)! Stan/Reader SFW

Stan leans back into the bench seat of his car, one arm stretched out to rest behind your shoulders and gripping your side of the seat, his other hand possessive at the popcorn in his lap. Various other cars park near the Stanmobile, younger kids with their parents laughing and hollering through car windows at one another, teenagers trying to be sly about the old yawn-and-stretch, and the usual crowd around the Falls Drive-In.

“Sorry ‘bout making you hide on the way in here,” He’s grinning at you, totally not sorry at all, “Just makes it a little more fun, y’know?”

_More fun and more cheap_ , you reply, eyebrow raised at him. It’s been a few weeks of sneaky dates with Stan Pines, and you were almost willing to start paying for them yourself, but he really seemed to enjoy the slyness of it all. With those dimples in his cheeks, how could you say no? 

He laughs and you scoot closer, gathering a small handful of popcorn and settling against his chest. For being so horribly adamant on taking you to this scary movie, Stan wasn’t very good at paying attention to it. Instead, his fingers were rubbing circles into your shoulder, playfully batting your fingers away from the popcorn, before finally settling, his cheek against your temple. 

The movie is another run-of-the-mill slasher fic, nothing much but screaming women, dark rooms, blood and guts. As you lean in his chest, you notice how his heart pounds--wether from the contact or the movie, you’re unsure, but you smirk nonetheless. You lean up and plant a smooch to his neck, making him jump from his focus at the movie. His cheeks burn at being spooked, but he grins down at you, pressing a kiss to your lips before pulling you closer. 

“What, you sayin’ this shit isn’t scary to you?” He asks after the movie is over, speeding out onto the backroads towards home. You shake your head and shrug, explaining that a man jumping out of a lake to drown some poor woman just isn’t feasible to be a real fear. 

Stan scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Should’a known better than to date one of my brother’s sciencey friends,” He looks at you with mock exasperation, a smile playing at his lips despite his best efforts as he continues, **“People like you have no imagination.”** He looks at you sidelong as he drives, one dimple proudly on display. 

You fake a pout, crossing your arms. Stan barks a laugh at the look you give him, then reaches over to rest his large, warm palm against your thigh as he drives. Your fingers toy against his, running over his knuckles tenderly. It takes a moment before you realize he’s missed his turn to the Shack, a sly look in his eye. He takes an offroad turn, gravel crunching beneath the tires as makeout point comes into view. 

You look at him, unamused, “So you’ll insult me and then expect me to smooch on you?” 

He snickers as he parks the car, turning off his headlights, “Are you gonna hold out on me ‘cause of one li’l joke?” Stan wraps an arm around you, pulling you close to his hip. You let him, leaning into his chest, “Besides, you know you couldn’t resist this.” Smoothly, he pulls you into his lap, fingertips tickling lightly at your sides as he kisses at your neck. You sigh against him, leaning into the embrace. The both of you stay quiet now, snuggling together as you watch the clouds move across the night sky.


	3. How Can I Trust You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paranoid!Ford/Reader SFW

You almost don’t recognize him with his hair so disheveled, face unshaven, eyes dark with a harsh gaze. He pants slightly as he stares at you, a crossbow held tight in his hands, aimed at your throat. 

Your heart is in your throat as you watch him, his teeth grit together, looking wild as he looks you up and down. You open your mouth to speak and it feels suddenly dry, cold wind blowing against your lips and making them raw. You regret knocking on the door so late at night, but then again, this sort of reaction isn’t just fear. He was waiting for someone to be here tonight. Someone...unwelcome. 

“Stanford, it’s just me. Y-You know me, you’ve known me for years, please…” In one hand is a bag, full of cans of soup and hot cocoa packets to help him through the winter, the other is nothing but your mitten. You hold both hands up in surrender (or self defense), feeling the wood of the crossbow bump against your chin.

That’s when you realize his hands are trembling, his body shaking either from the cold or adrenaline. His stone face wavers, you can tell he’s weighing his options—he’s unsure, then scared, then he’s blank again, gripping the handle of the crossbow with white knuckles. 

**“How can I trust you?”** Ford asks, his voice like gravel. He almost sounds like he hasn’t spoken for days, maybe even a week? Your heart tugs at itself and you want to touch him, caress his cheeks, tell him it’s all going to be fine...but the arrow in the notch of the crossbow stares at you as pointedly as he does, and you make no effort to move. 

“I heard about the blizzard coming in. I didn’t want you to be without a few things, so I brought some. I...I can leave, if you just want to take these.” You will your voice not to falter, taking half a step away from him before he suddenly drops his weapon, reaching towards you. 

“No, please-!” He stops himself from saying more, but his now free hand grasps at your wrist, desperation edging into his voice. “Please, don’t leave me alone here.” 

You kiss his knuckles, just a quick brush of your lips against the skin, and nod. He leans against you, knees buckling, but he manages to stay upright. Ford bends to pick up the crossbow, holding it to his side as he leads you in. Without another word, he closes the door on the bitter cold outside and flips the four locks to the door. You watch him quietly, still hearing your own pulse in your ear as he leaves his weapon against the door hinge, casually sitting next to his boots.


	4. Will That Be All?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan/Reader SFW (but suggestive!)

Mr. Pines is quiet, but you feel his eyes on you as you sweep up the shop after closing. He’s stood behind the counter, half-assedly counting cash from the register as you move from one corner to another, bending to sweep the dirt into the dustpan.

It’s almost like a little game you two play every night after closing—him watching you with a quiet fire in his eye, and you pretending not to notice as you _oh-so-nonchalantly_ bend at the waist to clean baseboards, or move in such a way to make your shirt collar dip _just_ low enough to tease a glimpse of skin there. 

You walk to the trash can, shaking out the dustpan into it and leaving the broom leaning against the wall. You meet his eye briefly as you reach into a cupboard, grabbing the duster from the back. 

The bills are shoved into his jacket pocket now, and he grumbles to himself as he undoes the tie around his neck, unbuttoning the top few buttons to show off his gold chain and a flash of silver chest hair. You catch the slightest lift of a smirk at his lips before you turn and walk toward the shelves to dust them.

_Ah, so two can play at this game._

You reach up behind the snowglobes and mugs, gingerly dusting the grime of the day from the trinkets. You stand up a little higher, up on tiptoe to reach the higher shelves. Landing back down on your heels, you feel your breasts damn near fly from your shirt. Almost worried it’s too much, you glance over at Stan. 

He’s leaning against the counter, eyeing you appreciatively. When he meets your eye, he clears his throat and looks away, but you swear his ears are just a little more pink than usual. You breathe out a quiet laugh and chuck the duster back into its cupboard. Grabbing a rag and spray bottle, you move toward the counter now. 

You spray down the wooden counter, careful to not spray Stan as he leans up against it, double-checking the cash previously in his pocket. You press your hips to the counter as you wipe it down, bending at the waist to reach and clean the entirety of it. As you scoot around the counter, your hip gently bumps against him. He looks down at you, and you look up at him, the two of you still for a moment. 

His tongue darts between his lips as he eyes you, gold chain glinting in the light above him. Eyes linger at your chest, then your waist, then at your hips, pressing into the wood. He seems to get an idea, the familiar fire burning behind his amber eyes, and you see his throat bob as he seems to decide his thought should wait for another time. 

You stand and lean back against the counter, glancing over his shoulder at the money in his hand. He catches you looking and pushes it into his jacket pocket, turning and meeting you chest-to-chest. You feel his heat radiating off of him even through his shirt. You both are still a moment, and just before his hands land at your hips, you slip away, finishing up with the counter.

You look over your shoulder and grin at him, batting your eyes and playing innocent as can be. You finish wiping down the register and toss rag and spray bottle behind it to deal with tomorrow. 

“Sir,” your voice is quiet as you stand close to him, leaning back against the counter once more.  
**”Will that be all?”**

Stan nods, motioning with his head towards the door. “Get outta here, kid.” He smirks at you, knowing your game. His hand rests on the small of your back as he leads you to the door, and you thank him, stepping out into the brisk fall air. 

As you climb into your car, you think you see him shifting from foot-to-foot as he leans against the doorframe, giving you a quick wave as he slams the door shut. You snicker as your engine starts, pulling out towards home. 

_Better luck next time, Stanley Pines._


	5. Take What You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford/Reader

You thought you were being sneaky, tiptoeing down the stairs to Ford’s room behind the vending machine, but his voice calling up the hall to you told you otherwise. You make your way to the next landing, craning your head and grinning at your Dungeon Master for the night. 

Dipper’s campaign had just ended, giving Ford an opportunity to start a one-shot filled with adventure—well, at least until Dipper’s new campaign got rolling. 

“Trying to sneak down here to catch me planning?” Ford almost sounds like he’s reprimanding you, but the smile on his face says otherwise. He’s surrounded by graph paper, books open and strewn about him as he sits cross-legged on the floor. 

“Just thought I’d help you get situated before Dipper heads down here.” You answer, looking around and finding the DM screen on one of his counters, plucking it up and handing it to him. He takes it and starts scooping the papers up, setting everything in front of him and behind the screen. 

You settle onto the floor in front of him at an angle, sifting through character sheets and fumbling for your dice bag. You frown as you shake out your dice, realizing you don’t have your full set. Your 38-sided die went missing last time you played. Sheepishly, you ask if Ford has another set. 

He motions with his head to a desk drawer, “It’s full-up with sets of dice from many dimensions! You’re welcome to **take what you need.** ” Ford’s obviously proud of his (extensive, you note) collection. You dig through them, settling on a fairly-normal looking set of heavy black dice as you hear the tell-tale thuds of Dipper running down the stairs. 

“Great-uncle Ford! I’ve got some questions about my Kenku before I play him tonight!” He’s yelling even before he’s in sight, skirting to a halt at the bottom of the stairs with arms full of books, papers, and character figures. He smiles at you and settles into the ground, splaying his papers to be visible at all angles. 

You listen as Ford explains the speech mechanisms related to a Kenku, and Dipper debates whether or not a mockingbird-based Kenku would be better equipped with language. Ford’s laughing, shaking his head at his grand-nephew, and Dipper is insistent—but laughing as he tries to convince him.

You realize a little late that you’re staring at Ford, his sleeves slightly stretched where he’s rolled them, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. He catches your eye and clears his throat, smiling still as he glances away, cheeks a sweet shade of pink. You look down at the dice in your hand, rolling them around between your fingers.

After an intense delegation of character traits, the session begins. It’s a little slow to start. Dipper’s Kenku, a bard (whose name is composed with the sound of waves hitting against the shore—you’ve taken to calling him Ocean for short), has become trapped in a net after mistaking a trap for a nest. Your Orc, a barbarian, has been trying to knock down the net without hurting Ocean for the past few minutes. Finally, you just decide to cut down the tree altogether, effectively freeing the bird-person. 

“The creaking of the tree falling seems to have drawn unwanted attentions. From the edge of your eye, you see four beings cloaked in darkness, each with more than two legs!” Ford looks devious, setting the Drider figurines just a few inches from your and Dipper’s own. Dipper gasps, eyes wide as he flips through the player’s handbook. 

“Roll initiative.”


	6. I've Heard Enough, This Ends Now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MysteryTrio!Stan/Reader

You’re curled up on the couch in the lab, drifting between conscious and asleep as you listen to Ford and Fiddleford argue. Another late night with chalk scratching against the wheely-chalkboard, pots of coffee being brewed by the hour, and you being forced to be a mediator between the two researchers.

Stan returns from his trek upstairs and slumps into the cushion beside you, handing you a quilted blanket that you recognize from his room, and pulling open a bag of chips to set between the two of you. He takes a handful and shoves it into his mouth as you open the quilt, quietly laying it across the both of you as you take a few chips from the bag as well.

Fiddleford is usually the one who keeps his temper in check, but you can tell that he’s wavering at this point. “I just don’t understand your method! Your math isn’t right--you didn’t account for the-” 

“You’re the one in the wrong here!” Ford interrupts McGucket, snatching the chalk from his hand and pointing at the equation on the board with vigor, “This is simple! My numbers are right, it’s you in the wrong here!” They’ve been working on the math of a new theory (something about interdimensional creatures and how they differ from this dimension) for three hours now, making it probably around 2:30 AM if you had to guess. Stan was kind enough to wait up with you this time, and you were grateful for the company.

Your hands bump together at the bag of chips, reaching for the same one but instead grasping the other’s hand. You pull back first, clearing your throat and not meeting his eye. He grabs another handful and devours it, but his cheeks are pinker than you remember. You absentmindedly fiddle with the blanket, looking towards him and reaching to cover his thighs better with the quilt. He mumbles a thank you and you smile at him, settling back against the arm of the couch and watching the two men ahead of you.

“There ain’t enough evidence of anything, Stanferd! It can’t add up the way you’ve got it written!” Fiddleford’s accent is becoming more noticable the angrier he gets, talking quickly to get a word in edgewise. 

“Guys, c’mon.” Stan’s voice is quiet as he tried to bargain with the both of them. You feel an arm gingerly come to rest across your shoulders, and when you look to Stan, he’s scooted much closer to you and not meeting your eye, but his thumb is rubbing comforting circles into your shoulder. He knows you hate it when the other two argue, but you’re usually stuck in the room to make sure they don’t say anything they regret. You lean against his chest, sleepiness overtaking your common sense filter. 

“F, you’ve got no idea what these things are! How they can react to any situation! Obviously this,” he circles one of the numbers three times, to make his point, “Is proof that in any expanse of any dimension, you have infinite opportunities to understand this! _Except_ , apparently, in this dimension!” 

“If y’weren’t so gosh-dang _stubborn_ , Stanferd Pines--”

“Alright, damn! **I’ve heard enough, this ends now!** The two of you need to get out of here, go the hell to bed, and look at this shit with fresh eyes tomorrow!” Stan’s outburst makes you jump, feeling his voice rumble in his chest. Ford and McGucket look startled too, wide eyes with bags underneath pointed to where the two of you sit at the couch, almost as if they’d forgotten you were there.

“I’d have to agree with Stan on this.” You admit, suddenly self-conscious at your cuddling into Stan with the other men looking at you so intently. You scoot away and stand, taking Ford’s hand and tugging the chalk from it. “You’ve been at this for hours. When was the last time you took a bathroom break, even?” Fiddleford’s eyes shift away from you at the question, seeming sheepish now. 

“Well, that settles it. Go get ready for bed, damn you.” Stan’s face is annoyed, but his voice is full of fondness as he stands, putting a hand on either man’s shoulder. “We’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Fiddleford is the first to speak, mumbling an apology to Ford as he takes a step toward the stairs. He’s looking much more tired now, rubbing his arm sheepishly. It’s kind of cute, and you smile at the thought. 

“G’night, y’all.” He shoots the group a tired smile, heading up the stairs. 

“But if I could just..” Ford grumbles once Fiddleford’s gone, turning to face the chalkboard again. You’re standing in the way, a frown set at your lips and your hands rested on your hips. At the look you give him, he seems to give way, sighing in defeat. “Alright, fine, I’ll go too.” He’s acting disappointed, but flashes you a gentle smile, calling back his goodnights as he walks up the stairs after Fiddleford.

You look at Stan and give him your own sleepy smile, which he returns, wrapping his arm around your shoulder once more. 

“C’mon kid. It’s past your bedtime too.” He’s smiling at you as he picks up the quilt from the couch, passing it to you and then moving to do something with the chip bag. As he’s turned, you take the quilt and wrap it around yourself, hugging its warmth close to you. It smells like him (the tobacco from the cigarettes he’s trying to quit smoking, the leather of his favorite jacket, and every now and again you can pick up his regular old body wash), and you can’t stop yourself from burying your nose further into the blanket. 

You’re almost asleep on your feet when his large hand against your back startles you. Stan’s smiling tenderly, his head cocked. “I’ve only got one blanket, toots. Y’know you’ll have to give it back...Or share.” The second option comes like an afterthought, almost like he’s just thinking aloud. You smile back, offering that he could take yours, if he wanted to trade. He laughs as he walks beside you up the stairs, flipping off the light on the way up. 

“Ah, yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”


	7. No Worries, We Still Have Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford/Reader

You can tell Ford’s put a lot of thought into this date tonight. He must’ve even dragged Mabel into it (or maybe the other way around, now that you think about it), because he’s led you to a clearing a little past the woods, where a blanket lays on the grass, a few lanterns set around the edge. It’s beautiful, romantic even. 

“I, ah, hope you don’t find this to be too much. I convinced Mabel to nix the glitter, but she was adamant on using this blanket.” He’s sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck as he motions down to the hand-knit maroon blanket with a sparkling gold six-fingered hand in the middle. You’re smiling as you reach for his free hand, running your thumb over his knuckles gently to get his attention. 

You assure him that it’s actually very charming, sitting at a little picnic under the stars. He lets out a shy chuckle, looking pleased with himself as he squeezes your hand gently, leading you to sit beside him on the fabric. As he sits, he frowns, noticing the picnic basket he apparently wasn’t expecting there. He opens it and smirks to himself, opening a card lying atop the contents of the basket.

From where you sit beside him, you can make out the words, ‘Good luck, Sixer!’ hastily scrawled at the bottom of the card, which he closes and shoves back into the basket, only to remove two glasses and a dark bottle of wine. 

“Looks like Stanley’s done us the favor of opening it.” Ford chuckles, uncorking the bottle and pouring both glasses. You thank him as he hands you a glass, taking a sip and scooting closer to him. He welcomes you with an arm around your waist, taking a sip from his own glass. You watch him lick the wine left on his bottom lip, and he catches your eye, his face growing pink at the attention. He plants a kiss to your temple and you snuggle in closer, feeling the pads of his six fingers resting at your hip.

You reach your free hand across him, resting your palm against his warm chest. You start to apologize for your cold fingers, but he shakes his head, using the hand he was previously leaning against to bring your fingers to his lips. 

“My darling, nothing brings me further pleasure than to bring you warmth.” He grins at the embarrassed face you make, pressing a chaste kiss to your fingertips. Your face is warmer than before now, and you know you’re flushed red under the moonlight, and to avoid his eye, you take another sip from your drink. Ford’s chuckle rumbles in his chest as he releases your hand, placing his own back behind himself to lean back, watching the stars.

The two of you sit quietly a while, and he points out constellations to explain the myths behind them. You’ve heard these stories from him many times before, but you love to watch him as he talks. His amber eyes seem to glow under the starlight as he speaks, and his fingers rub gentle circles into your hip. You realize too late that you’re staring when he glances down, and then does a double take, grinning down at you. 

“What?” Ford asks, laughing a little. “Am I talking too much, dear?”

You shake your head, explaining that you just enjoy listening to him. He flushes at that, shaking his head. 

“You should know, I think you’re the only person to ever say that to me.” You laugh and nod your head in playful agreement, earning you a nudge that nearly makes your wine slosh from your hand. He apologizes through his laughter, and you join him. Somehow, in the midst of laughing, you realize how close he’s become. You can feel his breath against your cheek as he laughs, and when he opens his eyes again, he seems to realize the closeness, too. 

He moves first, albeit slowly. The hand on your hip tightens its hold, pulling you closer. You move with him, but end in his lap, unsure whether that was his motive or your own. He reaches behind himself, setting his glass down into the grass. You follow suit, then wrap your arms around his neck. You kiss his cheek as his arms slip comfortably around your middle, holding you closer. You smile, and your lips meet his. He tastes like the wine you’ve been drinking, and his lips are soft against yours. 

As you pull away, you curl into his lap, resting your head on his chest. You feel his heart skip a beat beneath your ear, and you smile, remarking that you wish this moment could last so much longer. He chuckles softly, planting a kiss to the top of your head. 

“My darling, **no worries. We still have time**.”


	8. I Know You Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young!Ford/Reader (1980's!)

From the moment the new Star Wars movie came out, you were obsessed. You saw the first one at least six times in the dingy Falls Theater (which really meant something, seeing as the town is so small, it only plays one movie that changes every week). Thankfully, Ford was entranced enough by the storyline that he agreed to come to each showing with you, even being so kind as to not argue the inaccuracies of space aloud. 

So, of course, when Empire Strikes Back came out, you were just as excited to see what would happen on the big screen. You were among the first in line to see it opening night, excitedly dragging Ford into the middle seats as usual, and he really did seem to enjoy this one, too, despite his reluctance to hold out hope for a sequel.

In fact, he must’ve enjoyed it enough to agree to see it with you again (and again apparently), as you are both stood at the box office now, purchasing tickets to the movie for the fourth time in a week. Thankfully, most of the town had already made their way to see the movie for the weekend, leaving the theater mostly empty on this Tuesday night. 

Since he paid for the tickets, you make your way to the concessions, buying the usual types of snacks. Ford smiles as he comes up beside you, opening his wallet and then shaking his head as you nudge him away with your hip. 

“Darling, really, isn’t it traditional this way? In most things I’ve read, _I’m_ supposed to be the buyer.” 

You argue that _no, you’d like to treat him instead, thank you very much_ , and grin up at him innocently as you hand him his box of jellybeans. He shakes his head with a chuckle, motioning for you to move ahead. You link arms with him, walking through the unattended usher’s gate and stepping into the movie room. You release him, making a beeline for your usual seats _just _high enough and directly in the middle of the screen, settling into the worn seat cushion.__

__Ford settles into the seat beside you as the previews start. You both ignore the lot of them, after having seen them four times already._ _

__“You’re lucky that this theater has the jellybeans I like. If I had to be forced here and listen to Yoda speak with no reprieve, I’m not sure I could stomach this movie _again_.” He’s teasing, and you hear it in his voice. _ _

__You act like you’re going to argue with him, shaking your head, “Well, it has to be said that Yoda has some charm! I mean, if you talked like that…” You give him a look, up and down, and then nod, “Yeah, you’re right. Couldn’t stomach it.” You grin as he playfully shoves against you, rolling his eyes with a smile._ _

__Ford pours some of his candy into his hand, holding it out just far enough for you to reach over and eat the orange and yellow ones that he doesn’t like. He pops the others into his mouth, just a group of colors at a time (4 reds, then 2 blues, and 5 purples, which he always saves for last) as the iconic overture starts up and the exposition credits roll._ _

__You both sit in the quiet of the theater, excitedly watching every moment of the film. He leans over, pointing out small inaccuracies between scenes that make the both of you snicker. Sometime between getting the X-Wing out of the swamp and Lando turning Han in, your hands entwine on the armrest between you both. The tips of his ears are a little pink in the light of the screen, and you can’t help but smile, running your thumb across his knuckles. You almost lean against him a little, and he moves to accommodate you, grumbling at the edge of the armrest digging into his side._ _

__You take your eyes from the movie for a moment, turning your head slightly to look at him. He’s focused on the scene unfolding on the screen ahead of you. In this light, you can see the hint of little sun speckles laid across his cheeks and nose. Flashes of light reflect in his glasses, illuminating his amber eyes in such a way that you swear, they turn to gold. His hair falls just over his forehead, almost long enough that he would start to complain for a haircut, but you almost can’t resist the urge to run your fingers through it. He’s just so beautiful when he’s focused like this, enjoying himself._ _

__Out of the corner of his eye, he meets your gaze, turning to face you. Momentarily, he’s worried he’s got something on his face, but you see a fondness in his eye, a lazy smile stretching across his face. Onscreen, Han and Leia are being pulled apart after a tender, yet tense kiss. The words coming from their lips are incredibly accurate to your own thoughts._ _

__“I love you.” You almost startle at the words coming from your own throat, not entirely intending to think aloud at this moment. Leia repeats your sentiment onscreen, her eyes locked onto Han._ _

__Ford’s smile doesn’t falter, but he looks down at your joined hands as he replies, **“I know you do.”** _ _

__You glance at the screen and breath a quiet laugh to mask your embarrassment in the moment. _He thinks you’re quoting the movie to him._ You look at him with a raised brow, “The quote is just, ‘I know,’ Ford.”_ _

__He grins now, cheeks pink as he meets your eye again. “I know what the quote is, darling.” An amused look in his eye, he leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead._ _

__You flush, then laugh quietly, leaning forward to repeat those three words once more. He whispers it back like a secret as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses another kiss to your lips. You kiss him back, again and again, movie forgotten entirely._ _


	9. You Shouldn't Have Come Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grifter!Stan/Reader

You knew he was in with a bad crowd, but you didn’t know the extent of it until tonight. Stan seemed nervous as he was leaving tonight, going somewhere to try and negotiate some sort of deal with one of Rico’s connections. He made sure he had both of his knives on him, one in his jeans and the other in one of his steel-toed boots. 

You hated the nights he left you alone. They just gave you more time to worry about him, running his outfit in your mind over and over again in case you had to file a missing persons report. Tonight was rainy, though. His car had taken two tries to start, and when he left, he looked at you like it would be the last time he’d see you for years. You felt your heart twist when he pulled from the driveway, but you let him go anyway. You knew he’d argue if you’d asked him to stay.

The forlorn look in his eye haunts you, though, and you spend the better part of an hour getting the guts to get into your car, find that damn man, and drag him back home where he’s safe. Set on finding Stan, you pull on your coat and march out the door, keys in hand. Rain pours as you pull open your car door, revving the engine to life before pulling out. Tears fleck at the edges of your eyes, and you wipe them against your sleeve as you drive, squinting through streetlamps to try and spot the tell-tale El Diablo parked somewhere. 

You drive past the usual spots--the dingy bar off of 23rd street, the strip joint off the overpass, anywhere and everywhere he could be. Even with the thunder rolling overhead, you can hear your heart pound in your ears with each place you go, the El Diablo nowhere in sight. 

It’s almost another hour before you finally spot that shade of red, peeking out from behind a warehouse near the docks. You damn near break the sound barrier with your car, screeching off the side street you’re on and pulling your car into park, a little ways from the warehouse. 

As you get out, you hear muffled men’s voices coming from the warehouse. It sounds like yelling, then a thud--someone hitting one of the metal walls? You crouch, sneaking toward the place. You find a door that’s cracked open, only to see Stan with his hands behind his back, tied behind a chair. You immediately move away, watching silently. 

“L-Listen, Rico, I was _tryin’_ to seal the deal, but the old fuck wouldn’t budge! It’s not my fault he-nngh!” He’s punched in the chin, his lip swelling up quickly. He scowls out at one of Rico’s goons, spitting blood their way. “Like I was _sayin’_ ,” He growls, his teeth bloody, “It’s not my fault the bastard tried to turn us in. 

Rico laughs, calling Stan by some fake name and saying something you can’t quite make out, before he turns to his companion, motioning with his head to leave. Rico turns away, but the other man gives Stan a few good punches to the gut, making him groan and wheeze for the air knocked out of him. After another laugh, they leave out the back door, flipping the light switch to leave Stan alone, cold, and in the dark.

You wait one minute, then five before you hear a far off car engine rev to life and pull away. You watch the headlights leave and turn onto the sideroad, then disappear entirely. Pulling open the half-open door, you hear him gasp. 

“Come back for more, asshole?!” He sounds mad, but there’s an edge of fear to his voice. In the low light, you can see him struggling against the knots around his wrists, trying to break free. You reply quietly, moving slowly towards him. 

“Babe?!” Stan sounds startled as his head whips around to see you. A lightning bolt flashes through the windows of the warehouse, illuminating the space around you enough for him to meet your eye, and you can see just how battered he is. His eye is swollen shut, blood running down his chin.

“Babe, **you shouldn’t h-have come here.** How did you even find me? W-Why..?” You shush him, reaching into his boot and pulling the knife from his sock. He mumbles quietly to himself as you move around him, cutting his binds away. As soon as he’s free, you close the knife, and he hobbles up to his feet, pulling you into his arms and giving you a long, desperate kiss. 

You taste the iron from his lips as you kiss him back, holding him by the nape of his neck. A flash of lightning and the thunder booming immediately above you makes the two of you start. Your teeth brush his lip unceremoniously and he groans with the pain of it, bringing a hand to his lip. You apologize, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the exit. He limps and you wince for him, knowing he’s got to be in pain. 

You pull his arm around your shoulders, letting him use you as a crutch to get back to his car. He half-heartedly asks about your car, but you shake your head, remarking you’ll get it in the morning. You help him in, then order him into the passenger side. He pouts (sort-of, you think. The already swollen lip doesn’t do much for you) as you demand the keys, but sighs and hands them to you anyway as he slides over in the bench seat. 

You start his car in one go, thankfully, and pull away from the docks. The both of you know that there’s a long talk about to be had between the two of you about all of this, but it can wait. You reach over, resting your hand on his knee as you drive. After a quiet moment, and another rumble of thunder nearby, his hand wraps around your fingers, too.


	10. You Think This Troubles Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford/Reader SFW

“Darling, please.” Ford’s voice almost has an edge of a whine to it as he gently pushes your shoulder back into bed. “You’re unwell.”

Your head is throbbing, your teeth are chattering, but you still manage to give him a fiery glare, arguing that no, you’re not sick, and you have to do some very important things today, thanks.

You could punch him for that amused look in his eye, even as he gives you another gentle push. He succeeds in pushing you back down into your pillow as he sits on the edge of your bed. Warm, calloused fingers travel to your forehead as he checks your temperature. You feel the whine at the back of your throat, leaning into his warmth despite yourself. 

Ford pulls back with a quiet _tsk,_ his frown set on his lips now. “You’re not up for anything today, I’m afraid.” His fingers linger on your forehead a moment, brushing hair from your face without meeting your eye. His hand nearly caresses against your cheek, but he thinks better of it, pulling away quietly. “I’ll get you something warm to drink, hmm? Tea, coffee?”

You sigh, but give your answer, unhappy that he’s apparently about to confine you to your room for the day. You had lied earlier about needing to do anything important (besides making sure he didn’t blow himself up with one of his experiments downstairs), but you didn’t want him worrying on you all day, seeing as he probably did have important things to do today. 

He flashes you a quick smile before getting up from the edge of your bed, heading downstairs. He’s a kind man, but you know his time is valuable to him. Hell, this same man refuses to sleep for normal hours of the day because he could be doing science instead, obviously he’s busy! You bite at your lip and curl tighter into your comforter, willing your teeth to quit making your head rattle. 

Ford returns, twelve fingers wrapped around a mug as he settles back into the edge of your bed. You startle, but he shushes you, a hand leaving the mug to rest on your shoulder. He’s smiling as he offers the drink to you, and you take it, relishing in the warmth against your skin. 

“If you don’t mind,” He starts, pulling two journals from under his arm, “I brought up a couple of books I’ve been meaning to read. I thought I’d keep you company today, since you’re feeling under the weather.” 

You shake your head and avoid his eye, insisting he shouldn’t go through the trouble of caring for you.

Ford’s hand is on yours in an instant, and you look up at him with raised brows. His amber eyes are soft, almost sad in the gaze he gives you, his smile faded. “ **You think this troubles me?** Darling, quite the opposite.” 

You feel warmth on your cheeks, knowing it isn’t from the drink he offered you. 

Still a little reluctant, you nod, motioning for him to sit in the chair across the room, but he instead situates himself on the foot of your bed. His back against the wall, he stretches his feet out to hang just slightly over the bed, his leg bumping against yours every so often. “Hope you don’t mind.”

He’s giving you a crooked grin when you look up at him next, and you feel yourself smile back before drifting to sleep again.


End file.
